


Warm Nights In 221B

by lonelytarot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Background Case, Blow Jobs, Bottom John, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Crime Scenes, Cutesy, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Gay Sex, Inappropriate Behavior, Inappropriate Erections, Love, M/M, Morning Sex, Murder, Oral Sex, Poor Molly, Porn with Feelings, Public Blow Jobs, Romantic Fluff, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Top John, Top Sherlock, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-07 04:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelytarot/pseuds/lonelytarot
Summary: It's rare to have a moment's rest in the flat.





	1. Case-less Night

There were worse things to hear Sherlock rant about, John supposed. He could be going off about the color of someone's hair determining where they were from, or something ridiculous about human eyes being dissolved in acid for an experiment. Raving about the inacurracies in a crime show wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Between Sherlock and his aggravated dispute with the television and the pouring rain outside, John surely should've felt a headache coming on. Instead, he found himself entirely content as he stood in the kitchen, maneuvering around Sherlock's recent experiments carefully as he made two cups of tea. One completely void of sugar, the other too painfully over-sweetened to be called tea. 

"Sherlock, it's just a show." He called from the kitchen, unable to help rolling his eyes as his partner shouted another correction at the officer on screen.

"He didn't pull the phone records, John! You always pull phone records!" Sherlock retorted, crossing his arms as he sat on the couch, his touselled curls even messier than usual from his frantic head shaking. He didn't look up as John entered the room, carrying the cups as he sat down beside his husband. 

Sherlock pulled the blankets back that had piled up on the couch, and subsequently, himself. With John comfortably sat next to him, he tucked the blankets back around them, having taken the over-sweetened tea to free John of the extra cup. 

"How the devil did they forget the phone records? That's integral." John frowned, watching as the television panned to a scene of the victims house, thoroughly cordoned off by bright yellow police tape. The voice over explained the last series of events from before the commercials as Sherlock scoffed.

"Because they're obviously amatures. They cut the husband off the suspect list entirely after finding out the wife had been having an affair with the victim. Not that the husband did it, of course. But still, you never cut off a suspect after learning something that significant." Sherlock grumbled, sipping his tea as he curled up against John's side. The warmth of the contact gave John the most pleasant butterflies, even after years of more intimate contact between them.

"You don't think the husband did it?" John questioned, curling his free arm around Sherlock as they sat back on the couch. His husband shook his head, resting the mop of curls against his shoulder as he glared at the screen as the wife came into view.

"Of course not. The wife did it, it's obvious." The detective sighed, frowning as the wife played innocent in the police custody scene. John watched carefully, raising an eyebrow as he watched the rather convincing act.

"How do you know for sure?" He questioned, moving his hand from his husband's waist to play with the curls on Sherlock's head as he waited for a response. 

"She had motive. The victim, in the phone records they finally pulled, had threatened to tell her husband about the affair if she kept giving him the cold shoulder." Sherlock stated, seeming to melt into mush as John twirled his hair around his fingers. "If her husband were to find out and surely divorce her, she would lose not only her children, but her status and wealth, given that her husband was a CEO for a large tech company. The wealth is what she cared about most. So she killed the victim in cold blood, and tried to play it off like she had been at home the whole time."

"Wouldn't there be obvious holes in that alibi the police would hear of?" John asked, sitting his tea down as Sherlock moved closer to him, those long fingers locking together with his now free hand.

"Not when she would've been the only person home in the first place. But of course, neighbors have a habit of being awfully nosy." Sherlock snickered, gesturing to the screen where there sat the wife's neighbor, talking all about how the wife's car had been gone for the larger part of the night of the murder.

John couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head as Sherlock looked to him with that familiar gaze that showed just how cocky he was in his abilities. John truly loved that look, as much as he had seen it over the years.

"I think you need to stop picking apart every true crime show we try and watch, it makes it hard to stay interested in them." John said, earning the smirk that had made him fall head over heels for Sherlock. "Especially when I have the only detective worth listening to right here."

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly at the compliment, surprised at John's compliment if only for a moment. Then he smiled, soft and genuine before he shifted to press his lips against his partner's. It was short, but it held all the affection of the one they shared at their wedding so long ago.

"My my, are we flattering me, Mr. Watson?" Sherlock questioned, raising an eyebrow as John shifted to lay back on the couch, pulling the lanky detective along with him.

"That's Watson-Holmes to you, and yes I am." John corrected, laying back comfortably as Sherlock shifted on top of him. It took a little rearranging of his long limbs, but finally the detective relaxed comfortably with his head nestled against John's neck and his impossibly long legs stretched out behind him, hanging off the edge of the couch just slightly. 

"Oh, I do love that. John Hamish Watson-Holmes." Sherlock muttered, his breath warm against his husband's neck as the doctor adjusted the blankets over top of them. In the background, the sound of police sirens from the television whirred faintly behind a particularly loud crack of thunder outside. 

"Now who's the one flattering whom?" John teased, laughing softly as he turned his head to press a kiss to Sherlock's curls. The smell of freshly showered hair and tobacco filled his nose, subtle yet so very comforting that it made his heart flutter. 

Sherlock glanced up at him then, lifting one of his hands to trail fingers across the wrinkles at the corners of John's mouth, a delicate smile gracing his features as he did so. His dull blue eyes memorized the features he had looked over millions of times, tracing every curve and wrinkle as John smoothed his fingers down Sherlock's back. 

"You know… I think we should turn that ridiculous show off and focus on more important things." Sherlock murmured, earning a hum if agreement from John who reached over and clicked the television remotes off button. In the process, Sherlock took his chance to press small kisses to John's exposed neck, earning the faintest of noises from his husband as he settled back down and cupped Sherlock's face with his hands.

Sherlock found himself pulled into John's space, the delicate sensation of chapped lips against his own flooding his senses. Slender fingers curled around John's wrists, eyelids fluttering closed as the detective relaxed and parted his lips for the doctor's curious tongue. 

Together, they laid there, locked together in a whirlwind of affection until the kiss was broken by John who unceremoniously yawned. Sherlock blinked at that, falling into a fit of laughter as he hid his reddening face against John's neck.

"Is my kissing that atrocious, dear?" Sherlock questioned, his voice muffled by the soft warmth of John's pajama shirt. He felt fingers in his hair again as John's chest heaved with laughter, a sound that rung like church bells in the detective's head.

"Believe me, if you were that bad of a kisser I would've never gotten past our third date, Sherlock." John assured, his fingers massaging at his husband's scalp.

"Would you be referring to my idea of our third date or yours?" Sherlock questioned, sighing softly as he looked up at the doctor. 

"Our actual third date, not our third case." John stated, shaking his head as he smiled at Sherlock. "I'm just tired, you know. Awful comfy and warm, and then here you are laying with me… it's hard not to want to fall asleep." He explained, watching as Sherlock lifted his head to stare at him with those gorgeous eyes of his.

"Perhaps… we should have a rest then. It is very nice like this." Sherlock admitted, shifting to tuck the blankets around them a bit more snuggly. John hummed his agreement, his arms curling around his lover's waist as they settled in closer together. It was rare they got a case-free night, much less one that let them be so comfortable. 

The rain outside hadn't let up, a hypnotic melody that lulled them away into sleep ever so slowly. The tea was left to sit and grow cold, unlike the two lover's bodies huddled together on the couch.


	2. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning comes, and with it, John regretting going to sleep.

Morning came soon enough, sunlight streaming in through the crack of the curtains to land square on John's face. With a faint grumble, he turned his head and opened his eyes, his consciousness flooding back to him slowly as minutes ticked by. 

He became aware of three very distinct things as he woke up. One, Sherlock was still fast asleep, his face pressed firm against his neck as he breathed in and out in a slow, meticulous rhythm. Two, Sherlock hadn't lost his tendency to get touchy while he slept. His long, slender fingers were splayed across John's crotch, heavy and warm against the third issue. The third being John was uncomfortably hard, and Sherlock's fingers felt wonderful against his erection. 

With a faint groan, John nestled his face against the warm mop of curls atop Sherlock's head. He made no effort to move the detective's hand, instead attempting to wake the man with gentle kisses and his hand stroking along the small of the man's back. When his husband shifted to lean into the kisses, his hand pressed down against John's cock and caused the doctor to let out a low, stifled moan.

"John…" Sherlock murmured sleepily, his eyes still closed as he listened to the soft noises his lover made. His fingers eased off the bulge in John's pajama pants, only long enough for the detective to force his eyes open. When he glanced sleepily up at John, taking stock of the flush that had risen to his face and the hard bump under his palm, he couldn't help but snicker quietly. "Ah… so I see."

"About time you bloody noticed…" John grumbled, curling his fingers against the small of Sherlock's back as he felt those slender fingers massage at his hard-on. Sherlock only hummed in response, shifting his body weight off of his partner so his fingers could wriggle beneath the thin fabric of John's pants. 

"As I recall, you were the one who wanted to sleep last night." Sherlock teased, his long fingers smoothing down the doctor's length beneath his pants before sliding right back out, fidgeting with the waist band before tugging it down enough to free John's aching cock. 

John's only response was a half-hearted glare and a breathy moan, his hand gripping Sherlock's hip tightly as he pressed his cock against the delicate skin of the detective's hand. Agile fingers curled around his length at that, squeezing gently before starting slow, languid strokes that sent chills up the doctor's spine. 

John lifted his hips enough for Sherlock to tug his pajamas the rest of the way off, exposing his lower half entirely before tracing his free hand down the inside of his thighs, tentatively exploring the tender flesh they found there. Soon the shirt followed suit, and Sherlock watched as John shivered and shuddered under his touch, his eyes observing every detail of the curves and dips of his lover's body. 

"You're just so beautiful, John." Sherlock whispered, watching as John's face flushed a darker shade of red. Given Sherlock was still fully clothed, he couldn't exactly return the favor like he wished he could. Instead, he dragged Sherlock down by those messy curls and pressed his lips against the detective's neck, working the smooth, silky skin until a bright purple bruise rose to the surface. He drank up every soft, restrained noise that poured from his husband's lips until they flowed freely, careless and loud against the walls of their flat.

Sherlock hurriedly pulled his neck free then, instead favoring to catch John's sinful lips in a hard, needy kiss that almost made the doctor lightheaded. Those talented fingers released his cock then, instead moving to the fabric of his own clothes as he sat up, comfortably straddling John as he tugged his shirt up and over his head, adding to the pile of clothes and carelessly strewn blankets that had accumulated beside the couch. 

John watched intently, his eyes absolutely devouring the sight of Sherlock stripping down above him. The way smooth ivory skin moved and lean, subtle muscles flexed with every movement made John's heart flutter. He couldn't keep his hands to himself any longer, instead reaching out to slowly run his hands along the silhouette of his husband's body. 

"And you try to tell me I'm the beautiful one. Just look at you, all lean muscle and flawless complexion…" John murmured, watching as Sherlock's lips curled into a small, delicate smile. When the detective rested his hands over John's, the doctor felt as if static was running through his veins. 

"That's just it, darling. You're all experience and beautiful flaws, everything that makes humanity brilliant and wonderful." Sherlock murmured, leaning down to brush his lips across John's. "There's nothing more beautiful than that, nothing more beautiful than you, John." 

John practically felt himself fall in love with Sherlock all over again. He felt the rush of one of their cases spark in his chest, the sensation of all the times Sherlock's hands had ghosted across his skin innocently and not. When Sherlock looked him in the eye, he could see the beautiful irises practically shrink as his pupils dialated, and he knew he'd struck a deep, resonating chord inside his husband's heart.

"Sherlock Holmes, if I wasn't already married to you, I'd ask you again." And then Sherlock's lips were taken in a kiss so warm and overwhelming that it made every inch of his skin tingle. John's tongue brushing against his own raised goosebumps along his arms, so very hypnotic as Sherlock nestled his body in between John's legs as if it were his right to be there.

Slender fingers flicked across sensitive nipples, causing the kiss to break from John's pleased groan. Soft lips latched onto one of the doctor's rosy nipples, Sherlock's warm tongue sliding across the bump as his fingers toyed with the other, working the most seductive noises out of his lover like clockwork. 

It was almost too much for John, ensnared in Sherlock's predatory grasp as that pretty mouth sucked and kissed it's way along his chest and down towards his stomach. Fingers ceased toying with his nipples then, instead favoring the scarred skin along his stomach as Sherlock traced intricate patterns between his kisses until finally soft lips were achingly close to his erection, now slowly dripping pre-cum from their foreplay alone. 

"Oh, hell Sherlock… hurry it up." John moaned, his eyes fluttering as he felt his lover stop the kisses before reaching his cock. It wasn't until he felt slender fingers grip tightly, followed by a surprised cry that he found himself dragged onto the floor. Sherlock, the lanky bastard, had unceremoniously fallen off the couch and taken him down with him into the soft pile of blankets and clothes.

"Well… that puts a damper on the mood, now doesn't it?" Sherlock said, staring directly up at the ceiling as John lay on top of him. If the doctor felt any sort of awkwardness, he didn't show it. Instead falling into a fit of snorting laughter.

"You're so lanky you can't even stay on the bloody couch. That's amazing." John laughed, pressing his face against Sherlock's chest as he smiled and took one of the detective's hands, reassuring him silently that the mood was in fact far from ruined.

"It's not my fault someone had to get a loveseat instead of a sectional." Sherlock accused, a smile playing at his lips as he lifted John's face to look at him. The sly look in his eyes would've been enough to make John's heart stop just a few years before, but these days it just warmed him from head to toe.

"Oh please, like those spindly legs would even fit on a sectional." John laughed, shifting to give Sherlock a quick kiss before the detective could spout a snarky retort. Sherlock's hands cupped John's face as he let himself be kissed, giving up full control to his husband for just a moment. It was moments like these that John adored how quickly his beautiful detective changed and adapted to situations.

Before they knew it, they were back to their delicate touches and warm, needy kisses. Sherlock's hands had found their way to John's shoulders, holding onto him as the doctor moved his lips down the length of his body just as Sherlock had done to him earlier. Except instead of stopping at his waist, John's lips continued along the length of his lover's cock.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered as his perfect lips parted in a soft "oh", his fingers curling against the soft plush of the blankets beneath him as John's warm mouth took the head of his cock. A warm tongue circled his cock's head, causing the detective to let his head fall back while a heavy sigh passed his lips. He could practically feel John's pretty lips resisting the urge to smile, only succeeding due to the length holding them open.

"John…" Sherlock started, earning a low hum that vibrated through his hardened cock and sent waves of pleasure like hot static up his spine. He cursed the doctor for knowing what drove him wild so easily, but only for a moment. "Get on with it…" It was more of a plea than Sherlock had intended, his voice wobbly and laced with so much need that it cracked at every syllable. 

John was happy to oblige. He released Sherlock's length, sitting back to reach over to the side table next to the couch. Fumbling with the drawer, he dug out the nearly empty bottle of lubricant they kept there. Strategic placement, Sherlock had claimed. The doctor's breath caught in his throat when he turned back to see Sherlock lazily stroking his cock, his eyes heavy and dark with lust as he watched John. 

"Devilish thing, you…" John whispered, earning an amused smirk from Sherlock before he set to work preparing his lover. 

Slow fingers slicked with lube worked Sherlock's entrance open, all the while the detective languidly stroking himself while John captured him in one long, hungry kiss after the other. Soft groans and whispered breaths filled the space between their kisses, murmurs of how gorgeous each other appeared and how badly they craved one another's touch tickling against lips and skin until finally the detective arched his back and demanded John took him immediately.

John wasted not a moment more. He situated himself between Sherlock's long, beautiful legs, lifting them and bending them at the knees over his shoulders as he lined himself up with the man's entrance. A slow, delicate motion had him easing inside Sherlock's warmth, his lips pressing soothing kisses to every patch of skin he could reach to coax his husband through the initial discomfort of being stretched open farther than fingers had allowed.

Once Sherlock's whines and groans turned into soft hitches in his breath and low sighs, the doctor continued. He drew his hips out before hurriedly burying himself back into his lover, Sherlock's eyes snapping open and his nails digging hard into the soft flesh of John's shoulders, his cry breaking off in his throat as his lover took him in a way somehow so forceful and gentle that it threw all of the detective's preconceived assumptions to the wind. John was good at that, after all.

Sherlock was vaguely aware of the sound of skin slapping against skin, his mind blanking out entirely on every subject beyond John otherwise. John was all that existed, everything important, the only star in Sherlock's whole sky as far as his mind could see. Nothing else was as important, nobody else would ever be. 

And Sherlock expressed every ounce of that with how his body slid against John's, with how his arms curled tightly around his husband, how his lips feverishly pressed against the doctor's between gasps and moans that bounced off their flat's walls and certainly ran the risk of waking their neighbors. But Sherlock cared little for that, his only thoughts being of the man so tenderly making love to him. Thoughts of the single human he had loved so dearly and so fiercely that he had gone to unspeakable lengths to keep him safe. 

And when Sherlock came with John close behind, he let himself cry out his pleasure, let his usually reserved composure to break away and fade into the sounds of a frantic "I love you" repeated over and over like Sherlock's own personal gospel ad they rode out their shared orgasm until nothing was left but a numb tingle in the backs of their minds while they lay together spent and panting.

They caught their breath slowly, eyes resting closed as they lay in a tangle of limbs and a mess of cum and sweat. John's lips pressed soft kisses to Sherlock's mop of curls, silently expressing how dear the doctor held him as he rubbed his hand up and down the detective's back. 

They didn't move until Sherlock's phone binged, a text waiting to be answered. Lazily, he reached back and snatched it off the table, half-lidded eyes reading the words before popping wide open with a too-familisr excitement that had John laughing.

"I take it we have a new case."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the smut-zone, boys and ghouls.


	3. The Game Is Afoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Sherlock with a case is a happy Sherlock, indeed.

"Details, now." Sherlock demanded, pulling on a pair of the blue latex gloves that came customary with every crime scene investigation. Lestrade crossed his arms as he watched the detective turn over various pieces of shattered glass, each piece looking like a misshapen puzzle piece in his fingers.

"Three dead, nobody knows what happened beyond hearing screaming next door. Neighbors called the police when they saw a man fall from the upstairs window." Greg explained, looking over as John scribbled down notes for reference later.

"Obviously not fell. Pushed, more like it." Sherlock quipped, shifting to investigate the pattern of the blood that had splattered across the grass and the brick walls of the house a foot or so away. "Look at that splatter pattern, obviously he wasn't dead when he hit the ground." The blue latex fingertips were hurriedly covered in the blood of the victim when John knelt down next to him, pen scratching hurriedly against paper.

"Shot twice in the head. Someone really wasn't happy." John muttered, earning the faintest glimmer of a smile from the detective before it vanished behind his usual serious exterior. "Takes a special kind of twisted to gun down a man that can't even run away."

"You're telling me. You should see the other two we already bagged up and sent to the morgue." Greg interrupted, earning a glare from Sherlock.

"You already moved two more bodies before I could examine the scene? What kind of police force are you running." Sherlock frowned, popping back onto his feet before he gazed up at the window. "I want to see the other bodies as soon as I'm done here, but first let's see what that room looks like up there and the other sites." 

"Alright then. Anderson, let's go show them. Sooner they have their look around the sooner they're out of our hair and the sooner this is solved." Greg said, earning a look of pure exasperation from Anderson before the man joined them. 

Sherlock took the lead as John followed behind him, making their way to the first murder site in the master suite of the house. Lestrade stood to the side and pulled Anderson along, making room for Sherlock to whip his long coat around as he did a full turn, his sharp eyes scanning every detail of the scene.

"The wife was found in the bed, shot twice in the chest and once in the stomach." Anderson explained, earning a quick glance from the detective who hurried himself to examine the scene. 

"John, write this down. The wife was shot in the stomach when she opened the bedroom door, quick draw and bad aim. She tried to back away, shot once in the chest. Fell back onto the bed, likely attempted to shield her face in fear, and then was shot a second time in the chest." As Sherlock spoke, quick and rushed, John's fingers furiously kept pace. With how Sherlock was dancing about the room, pointing out blood tracks and patterns, he looked almost like a kid in a candy store. Well, if candy were murder victims.

"What the hell has such a spring in your step that you have the audacity to bring it to a triple homicide scene?" Anderson spat, frowning and furrowing his brows together as Sherlock spun on his heel and looked at him. "People are dead and you're prancing about like some kind of preening ballerina."

"Ah, yes, you wouldn't understand that, now would you? The complexity of human betrayals always send my nerves ablaze, sort of like how John's fingers did earlier. Oh, but you wouldn't know that feeling. How long was it since your last girlfriend left you, again? Was it three, four months? Not that it matters, of course, because just like always your presence is entirely irrelevant to the case and simply lowers my tolerance for stupidity tremendously." Sherlock's lips curled into a cruel mimicry of a smile then, his nose wrinkling in disgust before he heard the soft sound of muffled laughter. 

He turned his head to glance at John, whose face was buried against the soft plush of his jumper sleeve in an attempt to stifle the fit of giggles that had risen in his chest. The twisted grin turned into a genuine, soft curve of the lips then as he swooped his way over in a few long strides. Anderson was left dumbfounded and at a loss for words, only left to watch as Sherlock's long fingers sat comfortably at the small of John's back.

"Oh bloody hell, Sherlock. You can't just up and read a man like that at a crime scene, now I look unprofessional for laughing." John snorted, closing the little black notebook as he finally calmed his giggling. True, laughter in front of police was unprofessional, but they'd never been a hundred percent perfect with their social conduct.

"Don't worry about it, John. You look far more professional than Anderson with his mouth agape. Now let's see the final site, and we can leave these… fine people to their work." Sherlock stated calmly, earning a vague nod from Lestrade who gestured down the hall to the study. 

They made their way to the room, brushing past police to come inside. Upon entry they caught the breeze from the shattered window, a chill running deep into their bones as John observed a copious amount of blood against the heavy wooden desk. It looked like a scene out of a gladiator battle, blood spattered to and fro across the bookshelves. 

"I'm guessing a bludgeoning took place then." The doctor whispered, earning a soft squeeze to the hand from Sherlock. The hair on the back of the detective's neck was standing up as his senses took over, cataloging every detail.

"Last victim was the son, about eighteen years old. Head was caved in completely." Greg explained, earning nothing but silence as Sherlock looked at the suspected murder weapon he had spotted in his initial scan of the room. A particularly heavy book, an almanac, was horribly bloody and bend out of shape. Pages were half torn and ripped, the cover showing obvious specs of what the detective knew to be brain matter. John could see the scene being reconstructed in slow motion behind Sherlock's eyes.

"Ambush. Whoever did this struck here first, not last. The wife was the final target. Whomever killed them got rid of the men first, so that no one could save the wife. No doubt she would have been screaming, expecting someone to help her." Sherlock slowly sat the book down, walking to the window to gaze out and down at the body beneath being bagged and taken away.

"The husband was thrown out the window before the son came in. Likely heard the glass shattering and came running to help. Our murderer bludgeoned him to death, then moved down the hall to the wife. I expect she was sleeping, heard nothing until they beat on her door and then killed her as well. They checked on the way out that there were no survivors. Hence the bloody footsteps that seemed to be hastily cleaned up. They found the husband still breathing as they left, and finished the job before finally vanishing into the morning fog to carry on their day." 

With the explanation out and written down by John, Sherlock took a deep breath from his place at the window, and for a moment John saw flashbacks to the Fall. Tilting his head back, Sherlock stared up at the cloudy sky that was slowly growing brighter as morning turned into noon. Finally, the detective turned away from the window and patted his hand against John's shoulder.

"We have what we need. To the morgue with us. Good luck with cleaning this up, Lestrade." Sherlock muttered, and with that the detective was off, John running along behind to keep pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tad shorter than I wanted, but I'm almost done with chapter 4, on the bright side!


	4. Inappropriate Lab Behavior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a man who used to be a virgin, Sherlock is more than eager to please.

The ride to the morgue took less than twenty minutes, their cab promptly disposing them at the door before leaving them to their business. Molly greeted them upon entry, getting barely a hello from Sherlock before he set about reading the autopsy reports she already had sitting at the lab table.

"Well, he seems awfully excited today." Molly stated quietly, looking to John as the doctor nodded his agreement.

"Triple homicide. He's always wanted to solve one of those, it's like bloody Christmas to him." John said, walking with the woman to join his husband at the table. He sat down quietly across from him, pulling out the notebook in his pocket to give Sherlock in a quick trade for the reports so he could look over them as well. 

Sherlock shifted and rolled his stool over to the microscope, sliding in one of the blood samples Molly had prepared before studying them closely, scribbling down the information he found while John skimmed the file and pointed out mismatched pieces of information.

"Look at you two, a well oiled machine. Seems you work a lot better together than you used to." Molly commented, providing a few more slides when Sherlock beckoned for them. Sherlock's lips turned up in a smile for just a moment, something vague before vanishing again. John wasn't sure if it was from a discovery or the comment, but either way it was a pleasant sight.

"Suppose that's what happens when you marry someone. Things naturally fall into place that weren't there before." John replied, shifting to peer over at Sherlock and his notes with raised eyebrows. Sherlock hummed his agreement, offering his notes to John on the blood samples. Thankfully the doctor had gotten very good at reading Sherlock's hurriedly scrawled handwriting.

"Blood from all three victims and… oh?" John murmured, his eyes widening slightly as he looked over the rushed scrawl in the margins. He heard a faint snort from Sherlock at his surprise.

"Exactly. A completely different blood type than victims." Sherlock stated, lifting his eyes from the microscope to send John a clever little grin. John returned the look, his eyes bright with excitement over tbe diacovery that he could only imagine came from working with his husband all these years.

"Well, anyone up for coffee? I feel you two are going to have a very long night running background checks and tests." Molly interrupted, clasping her hands in front of her with a wide smile. She seemed more than happy to run the errands, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he looked at her.

"Coffee, yes. I'll take mine with a little more sugar than usual, John will want his with cream and one sugar. Say, is that Irene's lipstick on your shirt collar? Definitely not yours, it's not at all your color. Washes you out, I'm afraid." The detective questioned, folding his hands in front of him as he waited for Molly to answer. A warm red tone rose to her face then, and John couldn't help his smug grin.

"Congratulations, Molly. I told you, she was right up your alley." John said, earning a shy grin from the woman before she turned on her heel and hurried out to go get coffee. As soon as the door shut, Sherlock's gaze snapped to John.

"Well, let's continue then." Sherlock stated, sending a short wink and click of his tongue in his lover's direction before rolling his seat around the lab table with almost superhuman grace. He settled comfortably beside John whose hand found a place to perch on Sherlock's thigh, fingers curled along the seam along the inside. 

Naturally, they were perfectly professional. At least, that was until Sherlock became increasingly bored with waiting for the chemical results on one of the blood samples and promptly began busying himself with ways to taunt his precious doctor. 

"You know, Sherlock, you should have brought your riding crop with you." John muttered, his eyes struggling to focus on the notes as he re-wrote them in far more legible handwriting for future reference, Sherlock's long fingers having squirmed their way underneath the man's jumper to walk slowly across his lower back, as well as the deep scratches he had left there himself earlier that day. 

"Oh? I didn't take you for the kinky type, Doctor Watson." The detective whispered, his breath hot against John's ear. He couldn't help the small chuckle that passed his lips when he felt John shiver under his touch. "And what, pray tell, would you plan to do with my riding crop?" 

"Slap you upside the head with it, you git. I don't fancy being caught with my pants down like a bloody teenager, my love." John stated, swatting playfully at the detective's hand as Sherlock fell into a fit of giggles, his pretty little heart-shaped lips curved into a smile. John never failed to make him smile, that much was for certain. 

"Oh, come on, John! Live a little, what meaning is there to life without a little… risk?" Sherlock asked, his smile turning into something much darker, his eyes more seductive. And John loved it. It made his bones ache in all the right ways as a smug smirk worked its way onto his face.

"Oh, for fucks sake… Sherlock, get on your knees." John breathed, squeezing the detective's thigh tightly as he watched the man lick his perfect lips. The bastard was absolutely vile sometimes, a bundle of willful submission and shameless seduction on legs.

Not a moment more was wasted before Sherlock slipped right out of his seat and onto his knees, settled comfortably between John's legs as those strong soldier's hands carded through his mess of curly hair. Slender fingers made quick work of unbuttoning the doctor's pants and slipping the man's hardening cock out from his soft cotton boxers. A soft hiss passed John's lips as he tugged on Sherlock's soft curls, his eyes narrowing as he felt the man stroke him slowly.

"Always so eager to get started." Sherlock purred, his fingers tauntingly slow as he flicked his thumb across the head. His lips ghosted along the tip, soft and warm as John bit down on his bottom lip. Sherlock had always had such gorgeous lips, and John could barely contain his excited shivers at the thought of them fitted so perfectly around his cock.

"Especially when we might get caught." John hissed, looking down at Sherlock with those half-lidded eyes, his fingers massaging delicately at his husband's scalp after a particularly rough tug that had Sherlock moaning against the warm flesh of his cock. Apparently, the detective got the hint, his hot mouth taking the entire length of the doctor in. 

John's hand tightened in Sherlock's hair, his lips parting in a sound the closest thing to a prayer he had said in years. Sherlock squeezed his fingers around the base of the man's cock, bobbing his head in a slow rhythm that sent chills up John's spine. He could feel every lazy stroke, every hot flick of the detective's tongue against the tender skin. It burned like fire in John's veins, his eyes fluttering closed as he guided Sherlock's mouth along his length by those messy, beautiful curls.

John felt his cock twitch when he finally risked a glance downwards, becoming quickly aware that somewhere along the lines of Sherlock so desperately sucking him off, the man had freed his own cock and was stroking himself in time with his his mouth bobbing feverishly along the doctor's length. It was nearly enough to make John lose his composure, watching as his husband jerked himself along to such a vile little stolen moment between them. 

"Oh, fuck Sherlock…" John began, his voice quivering and breaking as he grabbed tightly to the detective's shoulder with his free hand. He couldn't form the words that he wanted, couldn't express just how badly he wanted to say to hell with it and yank Sherlock up by that tight button up to bend him across the lab table and fuck him senseless without a care in the world. 

However, he didn't last that long. One moment too long of his dick stuffed down that pretty throat and John had to bite down on his hand to stifle the shout that punctuated his orgasm. His nails dug into the silk of Sherlock's shirt and pulled hard at those luscious curls as his husband choked on the hot seed that spilled from John, pulling away only when he was certain the last of John's cum had landed safely in his mouth. Except for the last unexpected spurt that landed along one of those perfect cheekbones, a line of white that splattered into the lowest point of the detective's hair. 

"Bloody hell, Sherlock…" John panted, his eyes half closed as his softened cock was slowly tucked safely back into the fabric of his jeans. He became aware, slowly, that Sherlock was still achingly hard as he licked his lips, wiping the cum off of his face before stuffing his erection back into his pants just as Molly came back into the room, two cups of steaming coffee in either hand.

"I'm back, boys! Erm… where is Sherlock?" The woman questioned, coming over to sit the cups down as Sherlock shot a hand up from behind the lab table.

"Down here." Sherlock stated, popping up from the floor like nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just turned his husband into a pile of mush with his mouth alone. 

"What the devil are you doing in the floor, exactly?" Molly questioned, sitting John's coffee down in front of him and sliding Sherlock's over to him. She raised an eyebrow as she took note of the strange substance caught in a few of the curls that framed the man's face.

"Oh, just dropped my pen, nothing to worry about." Sherlock dusted himself off, sitting a pen he clearly must've just happened to find on the floor on the table next to the files before he took his seat beside John once again. John could hardly keep himself from laughing like a guilty school kid, instead shifting to sip at his coffee to prevent his slowly growing smile from being noticed by the woman staring his husband down.

"And… what exactly is that in your hair?" Molly mentioned, pointing vaguely in the detective's direction as Sherlock blinked and reached up to touch the still wet curls. John was the only one who caught the faint flash of both panic and pride in his work that crossed his face before disappearing once again.

"Oh, that. It's just leave-in conditioner. I thought I'd try to take care of myself a little more." Sherlock offered, turning to John and smiling in that classic way that told the doctor all he needed to know about how they were going to skirt by the issue. "John seems to enjoy how soft it's made it." 

"Oh, absolutely. Can hardly keep my hands out of it." John agreed, nodding along as he sat his coffee cup down. Molly seemed skeptical for all of a moment, eventually shrugging her shoulders before returning to writing up the reports on bodies that had already been processed in the morgue earlier. The two men breathed a silent sigh of relief, Sherlock immediately spinning in his seat and rolling his chair over to check on the progress of the blood samples.

It was certain to be a much longer night, especially now that they had wasted precious time on their case for personal gain, though it was beyond worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely self-indulgent morgue blowjobs

**Author's Note:**

> Back on that BBC Sherlock train!!


End file.
